The Faulty Motion Detector Soap Dispenser
by littlereaperboy
Summary: Death the Kid is quite keen on cleanliness, but when soap attacks, things could get messy.


**DISCLAIMER**: Nothing but headcanon and plot belongs to me. All characters are credited to Atsushi Ōkubo.

.:oOo:.

The faucet turned with a flick of the reaper's wrist, and he shrugged his shoulders to hike his sleeves up; if a single droplet of water were to mar the fabric of his clothing with a dark splotch — he chose not to think about it, and simply slid his hands under the stream.

The washroom of this hotel was finely crafted; marble counters and sleek frames on the mirrors, two of them, just in front of the sinks, and the order in which it was all arranged eased his anxiety. He'd been in here to dust off his hair after a mission — dust and darkness did not mingle, and even after he'd dispelled it all, the phantom sensation of the residue of abandonment clung to his palms like staleness and cinders.

He glanced up at the soap dispenser, idly thinking that it might look neater if it were fastened to the wall rather than sitting on the counter. The way it was, it could be moved, and it seemed lazy if anything. The only flaw in the room. Regardless, he reached to hold his hand under it, sideways, so the soap fell in a perfect blue dollop in the dip of his palm.

As he drew his hand away, he snapped his gaze back to the dispenser like a light switch, as the movement of his fingertips triggered the motion sensor, causing another distribution of soap to slip out. It dripped onto the counter, and for a moment, time froze.

"Eugh," he sighed, his lip lifted in irritation. He reached to scoop the fallen soap up with the edge of his pinkie, by now with far too much soap in his hand. But of course, the movement of his attempt at cleaning prompted yet another stream of soap to descend from the tube, landing upon the counter and his hand in an aggravating way.

"Oh, no you don't," Kid muttered to himself, moving to dip his hand in the water that had gathered in the sink while he fought with the machine, wiping off excess soap so he could reach to grab the dispenser and turn it away, suddenly glad for it not being bolted to the wall.

And of course, his moving of the dispenser elicited a tributary of soap to fall from the nozzle in a ring in the wake of its turning, and the reaper exclaimed in horror.

"What the _hell_?"

As useful as soap was, this was utterly unacceptable.

Hysteria and anger mingled to churn in his chest and he picked up the dispenser, cupping his hand under the nozzle to catch the next spill of cleanser, turning around where he stood as if he would find the answer of how to fix this somewhere behind him.

A panicked noise left his mouth as he set the thing back down on the counter in order to turn off the water he'd left running; it was filling the sink fast, and the remembrance of the concept of splashes on his sleeves summoned a frustrated burn to the space behind his eyes. He stepped back to gauge the mess, his shoulders tense with unease and his face set in a hopeless frown.

He took a deep breath, listening for the slurp of the drain emptying the sink on its own. Calm.

Glaring the monstrosity of a cleanser dispenser as though it were a rabid raccoon, the reaper's eyes shrank into amber slits and he rolled his shoulders again to hike up his sleeves. There was no way he was about to let this damn soap dispenser make a dupe out of him, oh ho ho, _no_.

He reached for the thing to turn it around again, quickly pushing it back to the crease where the counter met the wall. Luckily enough — and to his overwhelming relief — nothing happened.

It had ceased.

"Finally," he said aloud, letting his shoulders sag on a mollified sigh. The corners of his mouth lifted up in a slight smile, his hands going back to the faucet to finish washing his hands with whatever soap he still had. Finally, his mind repeated as he reached for a paper towel, relishing in the glorious feeling of having dry, soap free hands.

And now, to wipe up the counter.

Kid paused, surveying the mess with squinted eyes, suspicious but determined to clean the soap away from the marble that it tainted with smears and drips. Slowly, he extended a hand towards the puddle, (a paper towel wound numerous times around his fingers, no less,) and carefully scraped it away, the anxiety in his chest fading into nothing as it cleared up.

The bathroom door opened about the same time as he had leaned closer to the counter to move his now-trembling hand to wipe away the soap closest to the dispenser, almost directly under the nozzle, and right as he'd gotten the very last drop—

"K-kid?" He heard Crona's voice call tentatively from the door, "You've been in here for a long time… are you oka— wha…! W-why are you on the floor..!"

.:oOo:.


End file.
